


the last good thing about this part of town

by SummerFrost



Series: Suitehearts [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: A moment, M/M, NHL Trade(s), Pre-Relationship, the first day of the rest of Travis Nelson's life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Travis Nelson gets traded. He doesn't find out from his GM.





	the last good thing about this part of town

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to celebrate the holidays than with a Sad Travis Nelson? 
> 
> The Suitehearts universe is a collaborative project with blithelybonny and Verbyna. Nothing here would exist without them <3
> 
> Special thanks to agrossunderstatement, who beta'd <3
> 
> The title is, as always will be, from Fall Out Boy (Grand Theft Autumn, this time).

**July 2013**

BLACKHAWKS TRADE NELSON, HARRISON TO SCHOONERS FOR

Travie scrubs at his face. He’s probably reading the headline wrong. The whole page is swimming worse than normal and. They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t just  _ trade  _ him.

His GM would’ve called. Someone’s supposed to call you. They called Howzer in the middle of team breakfast one time and that was a whole four hours before the story hit the news and people started picking the whole thing apart.

It’s the middle of the fucking summer and all Travie has going on is this American Independence Day barbeque thing he was trying to get out of, anyway, and they could have called.

At least he doesn’t have to go to the fucking barbeque now.

Maybe. He probably just read the headline wrong.

Travie can’t even tell who the fuck the player on the Schooners  _ is.  _ He looks back at the screen. Does that say  _ Edwards? _

“Siri,” Travie says, “Google ‘Travis Nelson trade video.’”

Siri answers,  _ ‘Okay, I found this on the web for ‘Travis Nelson trade video.’’ _

Travie clicks on a thumbnail with the TSN logo on it and is about to press play when a call comes through. It’s an unknown number—no picture attached and the default ringtone blaring.

Travie picks up, because why the fuck not at this point. “Uh, hello?”

“Uh, hey,” says a vaguely familiar voice. “This is—uh, Nelson?”

Travie pulls the phone away from his face and glares at the screen suspiciously. “Uh, who’s—”

“Parse. Uh. Kent Parson, sorry, I got your number from Sharpy,” says Kent  _ fucking  _ Parson, living hockey legend, who has Travie’s phone number.

Travie closes his forgotten laptop screen and sits down on the bed. “Oh.”

“This is weird,” Parson says. There’s a lot of background noise on his end of the call—people talking and laughing—but he’s easy to understand. “Sorry. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“I thought it was—” Travie cuts off.  _ Fake? Some other dude’s name but who fucking knows because I’m actually an active dumbass?  _ “I just found out.”

Parson makes some kinda disbelieving noise. “Shit, dude.”

“No one called me,” Travie admits, because whatever. And then, “Why’d  _ you _ call me?”

“Uh.” Someone raises their voice and Parse says something back, quietly enough Travie can’t hear. “I—Jesus. I…thought—you know. You end up places you’re not supposed to be and it’s—no one tells you what to do about it.”

_ What?  _ Travie runs a hand through his hair. “What?”

“Corey Benjamin,” Parse says, totally randomly. “Uh, just got the C, you know. And he’s—he and his bro, they’re friends with—with Zimmermann. Uh, he’s—they’re good guys. I knew them. So.”

Friends with Zimmermann. As in Parse-and-Zimms, Zimmermann. There were rumors. A lot of them, like there are about Travie.

The way Parse says,  _ ‘friends with Zimmermann,’  _ makes it sound like they might be true.

Like they are about Travie.

“Okay,” Travie says, because he has to say something. “Er, thanks.”

“Yeah.” Parse hesitates. “I’ll—I can get you his number. Benji.”

A laugh pops out of Travie’s chest.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Jesus. I just—I just realized—that’s my dog’s name.”

Parse asks, “What?”

“My literal dog’s literal fucking name, dude.” Travie laughs again, high-pitched. “I named— _ Benji.  _ I named my dog Benji, and now I’m going—”

“You’re shitting me!” Parse sounds like he’s laughing now too. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, holy fuck.”

“I can’t believe—I can’t!” Travie tries to laugh again but it catches in his throat, makes everything sound wet and weird. It’s hard to breathe. “I can’t, uh—I can’t do this?”

Parse doesn’t say anything.

Travie needs to shut up. Travie’s never been able to shut the fuck up about anything. “It was—I knew, uh, when I named the dog. Like. Who he was.”

“Yeah,” Parse says, like he understands. Travie doesn’t know if he wanted him to. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet again.

Travie’s phone buzzes with an incoming call from his GM. He declines it.

Parse says, “They didn’t care about your stats. Don’t let them tell you that you could’ve been better.”

Travie runs a hand through his hair. “Uh, thanks.”

Benji and Stanley tumble in from down the hallway, yipping and chasing each other onto the bed. Travie laughs and pets Stanley’s head, running his little puppy ears through his fingers. “Sweet boys,” he murmurs, hopefully lower than Parse can hear. “Daddy’s gonna take us on a trip, okay?”

“It, uh, doesn’t get easier,” Parse tells him. “But you can make them think it does.”

Travie thinks about his father.  _ There are things we keep to ourselves, Travis.  _ Thinks about every media soundbite Kent Parson has ever given, perfect down to the exact curve of his smirk.

“I don’t want that,” he says. His hands are shaking a little and he wants to use them to snap his phone in half. “I want them to know and fuck them anyway. Fuck them.”

Parson’s laugh is fake. “Good luck with that.” His voice is hoarse at the edges. “I’ll text you Benji’s number. And—” he pauses. “And you can hit me up. If you, uh—if you need anything or whatever.”

Travie boops Stanley on the nose to watch the way he blinks up at him in confusion. “Sure. Yeah, thanks, man.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Another pause. “Uh. I’m gonna go, so—”

“Hey, Parse?” Travie asks.

“Uh, yeah?”

Travie stares down at the carpet, all the pieces of broken weave where the dogs have snagged their claws. “You roll out the welcome wagon for all the new West Coasters?”

Silence.

Parse says, “Take care of yourself, man,” and hangs up the phone.

Travie flops down onto the bed and closes his eyes. Benji licks at his face and he smiles faintly.

His phone buzzes with a text from Parse; all it has is a phone number, as promised. Travie adds Parse to his contacts first, then his new captain, typing out the names and triple checking the spelling.

“Siri,” he says, “text Corey Benjamin.”

_ ‘Ok, what do you want to say?’ _

Travie dictates the message carefully and reads it over before hitting send.

**_Travie (2:23 pm):_ ** _ Hey man it’s Nelson I guess we’re teammates now haha _

Benji texts back surprisingly quickly; Travie hadn’t really pegged him as a tech guy.

**_Corey Benjamin (2:26 pm): “_ ** _ Hey. Weird trade but it’ll be cool playing with you. Let me know if you need anything. We usually do team building in August.” _

Siri finishes reading the message. Travie drags his fingers through his shaggy hair, scraping down against his scalp. He thinks about what people see, what they like ignoring.

**_Travie (2:31 pm):_ ** _ Cool, thnx. U no where I can get a haircut? _

**Author's Note:**

> If you think Travis Nelson ruining your life could be right for you, check out [the OMGCP Suitehearts blog!](https://omgcp-suitehearts.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want to scream at me specifically, here's [my personal.](https://yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com/)


End file.
